


dancing on the moon

by Pomfry



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, F/M, and kaguya just really wants to help him, listen sakumo is just a sad person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 10:15:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15839181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pomfry/pseuds/Pomfry
Summary: There's an old temple in the woods. Old and crumbling, but - Sakumo does what he can.





	dancing on the moon

The temple has broken down over the ages. It’s overrun with vines, with green, the marble has begun to crumble. People have warned Sakumo away from here before. Told him that it’s dangerous, that it’s not worth it. That it’s just an old temple for a god no one remembers anymore. Told him that there used to be priests and festivals for the goddess of the moon.

Not any longer.

And Sakumo, ever since he was a child, has always thought that was rather unfair. The goddess of the moon used to be revered, used to be celebrated, and over an amount of time it just stopped. No more offerings. No more whispers of prayer. It all...stopped. And Sakumo — Sakumo doesn’t think that’s right. Even if she is a goddess, no one deserves to be forgotten.

When he returned from the war, memories crammed inside his brain and a five year old that’s far too smart waiting for him at home, he needed a stable point. While everyone around him shunned him for going to battle, while his son grew cold, he desperately needed an anchor.

So he went to the temple in the mountains, broken down by the weather and time. He went to the place that he felt safe and not judged. He went to the place that he felt like he could sit and think.

Sakumo doesn’t know of the ancient rites of the goddess. Doesn’t know what the village did before they started to turn away from her as well. He doesn’t know how to worship her, but he brings her apples and crackers and some lemonade. He cleans up her temple, uses the broom to brush off the leaves. He lights the fires and adds color to the faded paints. Sometimes he just works until he needs to leave. Other times, he gets to his knees, claps his hands together, lowers his head, and prays.

Today is one of those times.

There’s silver paint on his pants. Red on his cheek. A pearl color underneath his fingernails. His knees hurt from kneeling so long, his neck forming a crick. Still, he kneels and he prays.

“Please, please make it better,” he murmurs. He doesn’t know how many times he’s asked. “Please. Have them stop staring. Have them stop blaming me for failing a mission. I was given orders and I followed them. Please, make me understand.”

And — Kakashi. Kakashi and his hard gaze. Kakashi and his silent stance. He knows his son blames him. He knows his son, knows him better than anyone else in the whole world. His son is too smart, his brain too fast, and Sakumo knows that if he allowed it, he would be in third grade. But he won’t allow it. Kakashi is still a boy. He needs the cheerfulness his grade will bring. No matter how bored he is, he will not let his son skip grades.

Sakumo skipped grades. Look how well he turned out.

His shoulder shake as a sob builds in his chest. God, he wants something more. He wants to prove he’s not as bad as they make him out to be.

“I was only following orders,” he chokes out, and drops his hands, curling in on himself. He was only following orders. Why can’t they  _ see _ that? He brought their families home,  _ why can’t they see that — _

He cries in front of a painting of the goddess of the moon, hands over his face as the tears fall. He wishes he knew his goddess’ name. Wishes that, somehow, he knew what to do.

He doesn’t know what to do. He has visions of war while he’s making breakfast, blood on sand and the screams of his comrades in his ears. He’s falling apart and his son is growing more distant by the day. He doesn’t know what to do.

He wishes his goddess would give him some miraculous advice.

A cool hand on his cheek, a warm weight wrapping around him. A voice, soft and kind, telling him, “It will be okay. I will make them see, my champion.”

When Sakumo opens his eyes, there is no one there. He thinks, though, that the sky outside is a bit darker.

 

—

 

When he returns home, Kakashi is reading on the couch, little knees tucked up to his chest. Sakumo smiles at him, the buckets clattering together as he places them on the floor. His old clothes are stained with paint, with the fruit of his labors. He doesn’t mind it. After that voice told him that everything would be fine, he felt...lighter. Like maybe he could face the village’s scorn for the day. 

“Hello,” he says gently. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” Kakashi replies, short, and turns a page. “Did you spend the day at the old temple again?”

Sakumo’s smile twitches. “Yes. It was nice.”

Kakashi rolls his eyes. “You always say that.”

“That is because it’s always true,” Sakumo counters, and rubs his fingers together. He feels...different. More like he can lift things that should logically be too heavy for him.

He wonders if he should go get his sword and try some old forms. Wonders if he should try to pull on this sensation in his veins. He looks at his hand, thinking that, maybe, he could have something in him that was not there before.

The work of his goddess, of course. There isn’t anything else that could have caused this feeling.

Sakumo smiles, just a little bit. His goddess trusts him enough to do this. The least he could do was finish her temple.

_ “Dad,” _ Kakashi groans, and Sakumo startles. “Dad, I know you have some weird crush on a goddess that doesn’t even exist, but —“

“I don’t have a crush,” Sakumo retorts, insulted, and Kakashi rolls his eyes. “I don’!”

“I know you don’t,” Kakashi says sarcastically, and turns back to his book. Sakumo frowns, picking up the bucket of paint brushes and heading into the kitchen to wash them off.

He doesn’t have a crush. Right?

 

—

 

That night, the moon is bigger. Sakumo doesn’t notice, asleep as he is.

Someone else does, though. The archivist. The scientist. He recognizes the signs.

Orochimaru bites his lip and packs up his things. He doesn’t want to be here when the wrath of the goddess falls upon this village in a day’s time.

 

—

 

Sakumo isn’t an artist, not by any stretch of an imagination. But he can, however, color inside the lines. So he does, carefully shading his goddess, humming as he does so. He’s lighter than he was yesterday, more able to smile, and he thinks he owes it to his goddess.

“Thanks,” he says to a statue of her. “For listening.”

There’s no answer, but he thinks of a name.

Kaguya. It’s not a bad name. It would be bad form of a follower to name his goddess, but Sakumo gets the feeling that, just this once, it would be okay.

“Kaguya,” he whispers.

The earth trembles beneath him.

 

—

 

The next day, the sun doesn’t come.

 

—

 

People are at their door. Pounding and shouting and Kakashi is curled up in Sakumo’s bed, their dogs around him as Sakumo gets his sword.

People are at their door, screaming, “This is your fault! You’re the one worshipping her!”

When Sakumo looks outside, the moon is so much larger than it should be. He blinks, grips his sword tighter as he opens the door.

“I don’t know what’s happening!” He shouts above the crowd. Nobody listens, but then again nobody has in months. “I don’t —“

“Hatake —“

A woman glides out of the woods. Her long hair trails on the ground, her sleeves long enough to not even show a finger. Sakumo’s brain short circuits at the sight of her. She’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Her eyes catch his and wherever she steps, the moon’s shadow follows.

“Kaguya?” He whispers, and everything goes silent. The villagers scratch at their throats, their voices gone, and she just keeps on coming towards him. Sakumo finds himself meeting her halfway. “My lady, is that you?“

“Indeed.” Kaguya takes him into her arms, presses her lips to the side of his head. “Sakumo, my champion. What do you wish for me to do with these villagers? Destroy them?” Her fingers tighten on his long hair as she pulls back, face cold with fury. Leave them like this forever?”

It’s tempting. It’s tempting and altogether too hard to resist than it should be. He opens his mouth, closes it. Kaguya is gorgeous, her power almost making her glow, and it’s like being with her means he drinks more of it up. He can feel himself becoming something not quite human.

“What do you want, my champion?”

Sakumo finds his voice.

“I just want to leave with my son.”

“So it shall be,” she says warmly, and leans down. Her lips press against his and the world turns white.

 

—

 

When the morning comes, the Hatake family is gone. In their place are figures on the temple walls, of a boy with starlight for hair and a man with a smile that’s as gentle as the light of the moon. The goddess is holding the man’s hand, her eyes soft.

(Generations later, people whisper of the goddess’ champion. Of how he whisked his son into a world of gods and powers and insanity. They whisper he was a fool. Whisper that he is dead.

They whisper that you shouldn’t trust the goddess of the moon. She’ll just take you away.

They whisper a lot of things. Doesn’t mean it’s true. The so called fool can tell you that.)


End file.
